when the levee breaks . . .

friday 21st september
8am










I am finding it difficult to get the little grey cells moving these days . . .
maybe it's because my mental energies are concentrated on keeping the dogs happy and 'bringing them up properly'; maybe it's because I'm concentrating on getting things done around the house, clearing heather's stuff out, establishing this space as my own, soaking it with my own personality. that's difficult in itself as I am feeling ugly and old which really fucks me off because I despise my own self-indulgence. there are underlying confusions involving projects which are not advancing as they should, readying the pottery for work, for example, which I have done virtually nothing towards resolving, decanted a few boxes, the sum total of several weeks in which I could have got it up and running.

I am not feeling particularly lethargic. something about it frightens me. something about undertaking significant projects on my own frightens me. I'm coming to realise that this is the first time in my life that I've been on my own with real responsibilities and that I'm actually quite capable of dealing with them and that frightens me. I am living in a paradise with everything in the world that I need and that frightens me. it must be the 'something's bound to go wrong' syndrome or, maybe, I just do not feel as though I have earned it. I feel that getting off my arse and doing it will not change that feeling though, in reality, (a club which seems loathe to accept me as a member,) it probably will.

that is why, today, I will get something sorted, I SHALL DO IT! get that damn trench dug, put up shelving, clear up the mess. it will help clear the mess in my head. I guess. essentially, it's just a question of sifting through and dealing with one thing at a time and, though it never seems that way, time is something I have plenty of; or maybe, that is the root of the problem. next month I'll be fifty two, moving swiftly downhill from the half century that should have accumulated so much more accomplishment. the depth of things that a man should be able to achieve in all these years and I have only skimmed the surface.

enough of that crap . . .

I will be picking up the babygate I ordered from fraser's today. the idea is to keep the dogs from getting upstairs and to restrict their domain to the lower level. we will all have to deal with their distress when they suddenly find that nighttime cuddles are no longer on the agenda, at least, no longer on the bed. there will be an awful fuss tonight, the trauma will be unbearable, their happiness uncomprehendingly shattered; desolation and despair, an emotional torture inflicted upon those innocent souls for no apparent reason. I am already worried about tasha. she has become quite aloof and no longer hangs around her sister as she did at the beginning. whines and whistles occasionally cut the peace for no apparent cause but, the book says, do not pander to her, acknowledge her distress but do not look her in the eye, do not comfort her. kindness from cruelty and all will be well in the end. I hope so.



a chilly breeze cuts through the open door reminding me that summer is now just a memory. tasha wanders by, on her way to the water bowl or, perhaps, outside to relieve herself. at least their toileting problems seem to have been resolved. we shall take a wander down the lane and then get down to today's chores.

the pottery awaits . . .